Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
by Waterfowl
Summary: Bitterness of loss upon the ordeal of fighting Scar season 2 and the shattering tragedy of Cally's demise season 4 might have set groundwork for Lee Adama and Dee to find a way back toward each other at different points in their lives.


**A/N: There're apparent**** (and frustrating) narrative gaps in between Lee Adama pushing Dee away, in so many words, in 'Black Market' and them on a date in 'Sacrifice'; or Lee and Dee hardly seen on-screen together for most of season 4.0 (though, if you look reeeeeeally close, it's Dee seated by Lee's side at the memorial service in 'Escape Velocity') and them quite comfortable and in sync together in 'Revelations', let alone 'Sometimes a Great Notion'. **

** This twin-drabble is intended to explore how the lingering bitterness of loss upon the ordeal of fighting Scar (season 2) and the shattering tragedy of Cally's demise (season 4) might have possibly set groundwork for them to find a way back toward each other at different points in their lives. Set on the outside closing margin of 'Scar' (ep. 2.15) and the outside opening margin of 'Escape Velocity' (ep. 2.15).**

**Disclaimer: None of the characters, plot-points, inherent to the show, belong to me. The 'Scarborough Fair' ballad belongs to British lore and whoever has whenever performed it.**

**Par****sley, sage, rosemary, and thyme***

The victory party was back into festive mode full-swing after Starbuck's impromptu eulogy over lost comrades, when he noticed Dee wasn't there anymore. That would not be the first time she made herself sparse from wherever he was around, lately. After the words they had, he sure couldn't blame her. More so, her avoidance was, in fact, the intended effect of what he said, or rather, didn't. She ought to have gone on being joyful and beaming with that perfect boyfriend of hers, leaving himself to fare in the meek void she definitely didn't belong to. Hades, she could have sneaked out for a date with the President's aide even then. What he originally didn't expect, pushing her away, were the gnawing soul deep pangs, an idea of the kind infallibly managed to evoke.

He stiffened unwittingly under his father's stare, scrutinizing his frantic scan of the ready room with questioning concern, the Admiral assumed ever since Lee ejected from the Blackbird, as if prying for clues where his son was coming from. Admiral Adama needed not worry, Captain Apollo was no less confused over his own actions and motives so far.

The flood of ambrosia around the place was gaining momentum by the minute. Kat's triumphant bellows, Kara's hoarse, if strained, laughter, clank and clutter of mugs, followed by shrieking cheers, bounced off the bulkheads, hitting him with a nauseating wave. He nodded the Admiral and Colonel Tigh in acknowledgement and made for the exit, mumbling a passing reference to left-over paperwork.

For the world of him he wouldn't have admitted to have set out in search of her, rather that a storage room hatch left ajar pushed his ever sabotage-weary mind into full alert. Huddled in the far corner she was, rocking slightly to the rhythm her tear-induced ragged breathing established. He was by her side in a heartbeat, hands tentative and instantly shaky on her arms, shoulders, pulling her chin up. The depth of pain and anxiety welling in her eyes made him gape in appalled recognition:

- I hear them die. All of them. And I can't do a damn thing, when they're out in a fight! I heard _you _die…

Her next choking sob was muffled by his chest, as he pulled her close without a word, shuddering at the chilling shiver born of dread lunging deep inside him. That wasn't ever projected in his darkest nightmares. That was his Hades to endure, his father's, Starbuck's, on occasion, but not Dee's. Never should have been Dee's. Her luminous integrity was their ultimate hope to keep rediscovering the way home. They were all doomed and lost for good if she, of all people, were to get overrun by despair like that. At the very least, he would be, so much was apparent.

That sealed it, he knew, wrapping her tighter into his arms, humming some soothing nonsense. Billy would have to shift sideways, for, an excellent match for her or not, the guy was hardly fit to navigate the darkness, let alone walk her blindfolded through its most hideously populated hallways. And there were monsters lurking he wouldn't let her privy to, were he even to be devoured alive. He should, probably, snatch her off of Galactica, for some time, he reckoned, as her weeping subsided gradually into hushed sniffles. Gods knew, they could _all_ use some R&R, having lived through the ordeal of Scar's vendetta. A synched getaway to Cloud Nine promptly formed into a strategically sound enough plan to, hopefully, steer her away from the murkier corners of the bleak labyrinth they were circling, thus giving them both a fighting chance to make it through sometime.

***

He was still not quite used to his father's calls to Colonial One, though the Admiral made a clear point of establishing a phone-in routine if they hadn't met in person for over three days. Much like the early days of Pegasus, he half-expected a suspicious inquiry as to completion of his homework. Being on the Quorum felt a lot like the freshman year at college too, with seemingly endless catch-up reading and background research to do. And a dean with a finely honed bitter tooth for him, to boot, he had to remind himself, with a sigh.

In between finding his way about prioritizing the fleet's many and varied needs and rights, deriving efficient ways to maneuver through the Quorum's rhetoric, dodging the President's death glares, he nearly lost touch with a shameful lot of things Galactica, not seeing much of anyone, but his father, lately. The obviously off-schedule call made him coil inwardly. The Demetrius mission was not due yet, the President was on board Colonial One to the best of his knowledge, and his father was not exactly the type to jam inter-craft comms with bidding him good-night.

The news got him gutted, sending the mind into a giddying spin. Oh Gods, Cally! What he heard the Admiral gruff gloomily into the phone didn't make any sense. Cally was supposed to be safe and snug by her husband's and baby's side. And this… Why would she choose to take her life, to doom her dear ones to an infinite world of hurt? He couldn't claim to have known the young Mrs. Tyrol close enough, but he did remember the look on Chief's face when they were both locked in a depressurized compartment, about to either suffocate or get vented into space. And he would never forget Chief's lesson in abandoning 'what-ifs' and embracing responsibility happiness issued. Chief and Cally were supposed to make it through thick and thin of marriage. They were his privately appointed delegates in the realm of getting things right, much unlike himself and...

The scrambled patchwork of semi-aborted thoughts and emotions, fright raked and shredded, aligned into a compulsive urge to check up on her. He wasn't aware what he would say or if he even was welcome to be listened to, anymore, but the prospect to hear her voice proved a stabilizing necessity at the moment. With no dramatic changes in the CIC roster apparent, she should have been on duty for over an hour by then. He didn't pause to ponder why he would still keep in mind her shift schedule, while placing a connection with Galactica actual. The next thing he did, upon hanging up on Lt. Hoshi's amiably soft reply on the other side of the cooms-line, was to request a shuttle to the battlestar.

The Hall of Remembrance was his next stop, once it figured she was off-duty, not at the officer's quarters and not seen anywhere near the bar. There she was, staring quietly at the burning candles in one of the side-nooks. He skidded to a stop midway, halted by her detachment and instantly conscious of his own angst. He was driven to make sure she was alright, but what was he supposed to say now to make her believe, which words to summon for an explanation why he would go frantic over what Chief Tyrol was presumably experiencing upon losing his wife. He nearly made up his mind to retreat, while unnoticed, when she spoke:

- I know why she did it.

He had to start at the way her voice rang, unusually hollow and bland. The candlelight flickering off her cheek gave away she'd been crying. He ventured a step closer, bracing inwardly.

- Wha… Dee, what are you talking about?

- Cally. I know why she did it.

His father had briefed him, of course, about the alleged suicide, about late Cally's recent depression problems. What the Admiral failed to mention, was this:

- She thought Chief was cheating on her. She thought he had never loved her to begin with…

He was invading her personal space by then, searching her face with panicked intensity, born of mortifying recognition. She had appointed Chief and Cally her delegates too. Now that Cally opted to end her life like that, she was reconsidering her own prospects. He felt like screaming – at her, at Cally, at Chief, at himself, specifically. That was supposed to be his Hades to endure. Never should have been Dee's. He could feel an urge to hammer some sense into her stem from a faded memory of a catching up breathless shadow. Her luminous integrity was his hope to ever rediscover a way home, even from the distance. He was lost for good in the obscure spirals of the new path he set to pursue, if she, of all people, were to get overrun by insecurity like that. He was eager to pray to whatever God would care enough to listen, for her to deduce he was not speaking of Cally and Chief alone that moment:

- That is _not _true! She was wrong. Wrong!

Unwilling to rely on implications, he zeroed in for the kill, voice cracking with pending tears, his words an anguished plea as much as an imperative:

- Dee! Cally chose t… to do, what she did, because she was ill, she was not herself. What she did… has _nothing _to do with you. Can you hear me? You hear me, Dee?

He nearly swayed, relief washing over, as she complied with a silent nod and the slightest of smiles. She was trembling and still subdued when pulled into his hug, to steady himself as much as to shield her. Planting a tentative kiss on top of her head, he wondered if he was ever to be apt to, if she would even consider letting him do just that.

Apprehensive as he was to risk pushing his luck, he'd have to see to it, anyway, that she made it to the quarters soon, to get some obviously needed sleep. Then, he'd have to fit grabbing a word with his father and, maybe, Chief Tyrol, in time to meet her before the memorial service, scheduled early that morning, or, rather, later that night. That appeared a strategically sound enough plan to ensure she was not faring through that particular void alone, thus hopefully, giving them both a fighting chance to make it through somehow, before the darkness outraced.

* * *

***Scarborough Fair**

Are you goin' to Scarborough Fair?

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.

Remember me to one who lives there,

She once was a true love of mine.

Tell her to make me a cambric shirt

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme

Without no seams nor needlework

Then she'll be a true love of mine

Tell her to find me an acre of land

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme

Between salt water and the sea strands

Then she'll be a true love of mine.

Tell her to reap it in a sickle of leather

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme

And gather it all in a bunch of heather

Then she'll be a true love of mine.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.

Remember me to one who lives there,

She once was a true love of mine.


End file.
